


Sixty Seconds

by JuliaJekyll



Series: Good Omens One Shots [8]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Boys Kissing, Crowley in Love (Good Omens), First Kiss, M/M, Making Out in the Bentley (Good Omens), POV Crowley (Good Omens), Pining, Scene: Soho 1967 (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:01:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22323007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuliaJekyll/pseuds/JuliaJekyll
Summary: “Crowley, this is dangerous.” Aziraphale’s voice was low. Crowley could hear the fear in it.“Too right, it is,” Crowley replied, his own voice hardening as he became more sure of what he was doing. If he didn’t do this now, Heaven only knew when he’d get another chance. “If you stay in this car another minute - and don’t get me wrong, I violently hope you do - I’m going to kiss you. I can’t help it, angel; I want you, and I’m tired of pretending I don’t.” He gulped. His mouth was suddenly dry, his hands still shaking. “So,” he said, sounding more confident than he was, “Sixty seconds. Make your choice.”
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Good Omens One Shots [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1544350
Comments: 36
Kudos: 288





	Sixty Seconds

Neon lights flashed in a sinful corner of Soho, changing the colour of the pavement, the glass shop windows, and the street in turn. They were taking attention and visibility away from the moon, distracting people from the lateness of the hour, screaming at them to come and _have a look, go on, surely it's not too late for one little look._

At the edge of the road, beneath a streetlamp, the lights saw themselves reflected in the side of a glossy black Bentley, in which a demon and an angel sat, both falling apart in their own individual ways.

“Can I...drop you anywhere?” the demon asked, red neon blazing across his face, the way one imagined it might in Hell.

The angel’s reply came immediately, as if he’d already decided what he was going to say in the event that his companion asked that very question: “No. Thank you.”

The demon, whose name was Crowley, could do nothing to hinder the honest-to-Satan pout that came over his face. He clasped a thermos of holy water between his hands and heard the stuff sloshing around in there, so innocuous but so destructive. 

His entire being seemed to be aquiver with the need to do or say something - whatever it took to make the angel, Aziraphale, stay. His mind was racing through possibilities - he could give him a ride home, invite him out to eat, or...Christ, he didn’t know, take him to inspect a used bookshop. Anything that would make Aziraphale spend a bit more time with him. 

He could never catch a break. None of his attempts to get closer to the angel ever seemed to be met with anything but rejection. Regretful, sometimes almost mournful rejection, which Crowley imagined had to be even worse than cold, unfeeling disinterest would have been. If Aziraphale had never shown any interest in speaking to him - if, in fact, he'd simply drop-kicked Crowley off that wall in Eden after his silly lead balloon comment - it would have been less painful than this woe-is-us-we-can't-be-friends attitude. 

Crowley gritted his teeth and sank his fingernails into his seat. The hum of the neon lights overhead seemed to go straight through him, sinking into his skin, making the tendons in his hands flash blue as his fingernails glowed green.

This was incredibly frustrating. He wanted this angel so badly; couldn’t he let him draw out this encounter, if only for a few minutes? Nothing had to happen; nothing ever did, but how much damage could a scrap of extra time in each other’s presence really do? 

No amount that wouldn’t be worth it, in Crowley’s opinion. 

“Angel,” he said softly, and his voice cracked. Lucifer; how much more humiliating could this get? How much more blatantly obvious could he be? He cleared his throat, swallowed, and kept talking, forcing his voice to sound deeper than was natural: “Please, let’s...let’s go somewhere. I’ve missed you, angel; I-” 

“Crowley, the risks-” 

_“I know the bloody risks!”_ Crowley snapped, turning toward Aziraphale with anger spiking in his chest. How could he still not understand, after all this time, that Crowley couldn’t give less of a fuck about the risks? He hadn’t cared about them back in Wessex, and he certainly didn’t now. 

For a second, Aziraphale looked as though he might snap back, but then he seemed to compose himself and continued talking calmly, even as the neon lights turned his face and neck purple. “The risks I’ve taken in getting this for you are more than enough for one evening, I think. To say nothing of the fact that I’ve just given you the means to-” he cut himself off, and Crowley saw his Adam’s apple shift as he swallowed hard, as if he’d consciously decided to stop speaking before his voice had a chance to break on its own. 

And there it was. The proof, always subtle but always there, that Aziraphale cared for him. He wouldn’t have given him the holy water if he didn’t. He wouldn’t be so afraid that Crowley might use it on himself. He wouldn’t look so fucking furious with himself right now. 

_If I took this water, and I used it to do myself in, it would devastate him,_ Crowley thought, and he knew it was true.

With trembling hands, Crowley placed the thermos in the cup holder in front of the gear stick. He felt a little lighter once he wasn’t touching it anymore. Slowly, he reached up and took his glasses off. The gesture seemed to freeze Aziraphale. Crowley could feel the angel’s eyes on him. 

He’d loved him for so long. So many years, he’d desired him. 

Heart pounding, throat constricting, Crowley took a risk of his own. 

“Angel,” he said, “Please, don’t go. _Please_.” 

“Crowley, this is dangerous.” Aziraphale’s voice was low. Crowley could hear the fear in it. 

“Too right, it is,” Crowley replied, his own voice hardening as he became more sure of what he was doing. If he didn’t do this now, Heaven only knew when he’d get another chance. “If you stay in this car another minute - and don’t get me wrong, I _violently_ hope you do - I’m going to kiss you. I can’t help it, angel; I want you, and I’m tired of pretending I don’t.” He gulped. His mouth was suddenly dry, his hands still shaking. “So,” he said, sounding more confident than he was, “Sixty seconds. Make your choice.” 

Crowley looked down at his wristwatch and, exerting an insane amount of willpower, did not look up again, just watched the seconds tick by. His entire body was tense as he listened for Aziraphale’s movements, all the while praying desperately that he wouldn’t make any. 

Fifteen seconds. 

The tremors in his hands had spread, and he was now full-on shivering, as if he were cold. 

Thirty seconds. 

Crowley tried to swallow, but he couldn’t gather the requisite saliva. He heard Aziraphale shift and his chest seemed to tighten, but the angel still didn’t get out of the car. 

Forty-five seconds. 

Crowley took a deep breath. He was getting really nervous now. If Aziraphale left, he’d probably break down in tears - well, in sobs; demons weren’t able to produce tears - but if he stayed…

If he stayed, Crowley would have to make good on what he’d said and kiss him, and that was just as terrifying. Was Crowley even good at kissing? He honestly didn’t know. This time with Aziraphale, assuming it was actually going to happen, would not be his first kiss, but he hadn’t exactly asked any of his previous kissing partners for reviews. 

_I probably should have,_ he thought. _I should’ve prepared on the off chance I might actually get to kiss Aziraphale someday. Too late now._

Sixty seconds. Crowley looked up and met Aziraphale’s eyes. 

The angel looked just as nervous as Crowley was, but he was still in his seat. He hadn’t moved; hadn’t left. He was even leaning toward Crowley, over the armrest between them, a steely determination in his blue eyes. “I’m tired too,” he said quietly, huskily. His gaze flickered to Crowley’s lips. 

Crowley finally managed to swallow. “Well, in that case,” he said. Slowly, carefully, giving Aziraphale ample time to change his mind, he moved to close the distance between them, and then all at once, the lips he’d been sneaking furtive glances at for centuries were pressing against his own mouth. 

Automatically, Crowley wound his arms around Aziraphale. Although his hands were still shaking, they seemed to know exactly what to do as they pushed into his back and travelled up to his shoulders, sinking in, pulling the angel closer. Aziraphale kissed him back and moaned into his mouth, as if he simply couldn’t help himself, and the sound was so tremendously arousing that Crowley had no choice but to escalate the kiss. He opened his mouth, brushing his tongue against Aziraphale’s, and buried his hands in the angel’s hair. 

Aziraphale’s answering kiss was rougher, fiercer. Crowley felt the scrape of his teeth as he lightly bit down on Crowley's tongue. 

_"Oh,"_ Crowley moaned, surprised at getting a kiss like that from an angel, no less, then broke away to look into the eyes of the angel in question, watching the neon glow in his pupils.

"Aziraphale, do you-" Crowley gulped. He was still holding Aziraphale, one hand on his neck, the other on his chest, pressing slightly to keep the angel from surging up to kiss him again. 

“Do I what, darling?” Aziraphale continued leaning forward, eyes locked on Crowley’s mouth. 

As much as Crowley had been turned on before, he was even more so now that he could see the true depth of Aziraphale’s desire for him. He bit his lip, feeling how tight his trousers had become...then pushed his arousal to the back of his mind so he could say what needed to be said.

“Do you, ah...do you _feel_ this?” Crowley gestured desperately between them, his body electric with his need to make the angel understand what he meant. Even more than he wanted to kiss Aziraphale’s lips until they bruised, he wanted to finally make him _understand_. “Please, Aziraphale, tell me you feel it too. Tell me this isn’t just a snog.” 

Aziraphale pulled back, and it took an amount of restraint demons weren’t even supposed to have for Crowley not to follow him into another kiss. The angel’s eyes were soft as he said: “Crowley, twenty-six years ago, you walked into a church to save me from certain discorporation, and then you offered me a ride home.” 

“Which you declined.” Despite his best efforts, the bitterness showed in Crowley’s voice. That one had stung; he’d endured considerable pain rescuing his angel, not to mention his books, from those stupid Nazis, and then Aziraphale had refused his offer of a ride home in his - still relatively new at the time - car. Crowley had been so excited to play the hero yet again, and then to show off his Bentley, but the angel had wanted no part of it. 

“Do you know _why_ I said no?” Aziraphale asked now. “Do you know _why_ I let you drive off and walked home by myself?” 

“...no?” Crowley replied. 

Aziraphale gave him a soft smile. “Because I knew that if I got into a car, or really any kind of confined space, with you, I’d climb into your lap and kiss the breath out of you.” He glanced down at his hands, a blush rising on his cheeks, blending with the flashes of neon. Crowley had stopped breathing. 

Aziraphale twisted the ring around on his finger, still looking down. “It’s more than a snog, Crowley. It would’ve been if I’d done it then, too.” He looked up again, into Crowley’s bared, stunned eyes. 

“So what is it, then?” Crowley asked hoarsely. 

Aziraphale pressed his lips together and leaned toward Crowley again. The smell of him - books, tea, cologne - was intoxicating. 

“Please,” Aziraphale said quietly, staring at Crowley’s lips, “just let me kiss you. Let me show you how I feel.” 

Crowley closed his eyes and let Aziraphale take his lips. He relaxed into the kiss, melting against the angel, kissing him back with a languid slowness that seemed to come from the depths of whatever facsimile of a soul he might have left. This was not the declaration of love he’d always wanted, but it was a heartfelt kiss, and how far could one thing be from the other, really? 

With any luck, the distance might only be sixty seconds. 

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoyed the fic? Let me know! 
> 
> Also, I'm on Tumblr - julia-writes-fanfic.tumblr.com. Come say hi and cry about Good Omens with me!


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